


The Secret Lives of You and Me

by sammyaworks



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyaworks/pseuds/sammyaworks
Summary: Nicole embarks on a journey of self discovery and self love after a break up from her longterm boyfriend, Josh, presented to readers in this series of ongoing vents.





	1. Vent 1

**Author's Note:**

> This can also be [ read on my website! ](https://www.sammyaworks.com/tag/the-secret-lives-of-you-and-me/)
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave comments and kudos. 
> 
> -Sammya

We fell into one another on a briskly fading autumn day. This isn’t to say that we fell in love but rather that we fell on to each other in a tangle of limbs thanks to my dog.  Her leash had wrapped around your legs, and you laughed. It wouldn’t be long before you stopped finding her cute, and started to wonder if she might be happier living with a “more active” family. Of course that didn’t happen. Peppa stayed; you didn’t. You left me after a handful of autumns and one cold winter.

Why didn’t you love me, in the end?

* * *

 

I ran into your mother at the supermarket on Sunday. She said I looked well. She seemed surprised, like she couldn’t imagine a life for me after you. Like my existence would stop when we stopped. I told her that I was, in fact, well, and that, no, I hadn’t heard from you lately, but that, you being you, I wouldn’t have expected to. She gave me this look like I’d attacked her; I guess I had. But I promise I hadn’t meant to let my bitterness spill out in front of your mother, of all people; she already thought I was a strange woman, poisoning your mind, encouraging you in dangerous, liberal ways. I should have known (you should have warned me) not to bring up Obama, that first dinner together..

She went back to the deli (“for my husband,” she kept saying to the butcher), I to the produce. But then she looked into my cart and asked if I was cooking for two or one. When I said, “just me,” she looked relieved. I wonder if she thought I’d take you back. I wonder if she knows you were the one who left?

* * *

 

Sometimes I walk Peppa past our old apartment and spy on the neighbors, like a ghost haunting our old life. (Am I a ghost?). I didn’t realize we would lose all these people, who I’d thought were my friends, in the breakup. We didn’t socialize much, but we talked over the mailboxes, we held doors for each other-- that sort of thing. We would have those monthly poker nights. I liked seeing you away from your computer, engaging with real people who _weren’t_ me.

You were always on your computer, reading articles, leaving comments. Sometimes I would read a comment over your shoulder, and you would get embarrassed and delete it. This was usually for the best; your comments were cruel, not things an educated man should be saying. Had you been baited? Were you so easily baited? That should have been what my mom always called “a warning sign.”

Love makes us blind, I suppose. I tried to ignore most of your faults; you managed to ignore most of mine. Ignorant bliss. Sometimes I wish we’d stayed that way, frozen forever in a static happiness. Wouldn’t that have been perfect for you, Josh?

“Nicole!”

One of the ex-neighbors calls out to me on my walk, and because I am neither bitter nor a ghost, I acknowledge her. Old Lady McClare, from 34B. “And Pepper too? Where’s Josh?” she asks. She kneels and showers Peppa with affection, which Peppa returns in her own playfully aggressive way. McClare doesn’t mind--never has. She’s an elderly white woman who lives alone. Peppa and I used to come over for tea. We haven’t since the move. Memories of what we shared here only hurt what remains of my heart.

“Peppa misses her park,” I say. It’s a long walk from the new place, but Peppa doesn’t care. She’s getting up there in the years, but she has as much energy as when she was a pup. I’ll miss her when she dies.

“Come and visit when you’re done,” McClare says. “Tell me how Josh is doing. I haven’t seen that boy in ages!”

I don’t have the heart to disappoint her smiling face, so I agree.

* * *

 

When we met I had barely come into myself as a woman. I was still discovering what it meant to have a self. Self-esteem was a foreign concept, a foreign language. I came into myself while we were together, so I have only been myself with you. Now I have to rediscover what it means to be me--without you.


	2. Vent 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also [ available over on my website](https://www.sammyaworks.com/the-secret-lives-of-you-and-me-vent-2/).

On our first date, you took me to your favorite Asian fusion restaurant. It was a busy little place not far from the park where we had first met. We sat at a little square table with a red paper lantern in the middle. The girl who seated us gave us menus printed on old yellow paper. You didn’t even bother to open yours. Instead, you offered me a suggestion as the girl left us to decide. You said that their pad thai was the best in the city and that I should try that. Of course, I have never liked to to eat what others recommend for me… especially given that everyone’s tastes vary, so, I decided to keep looking.

“So,” you said, tapping your fingers on the table, “you’re an elementary school teacher?” 

“Second grade teacher over at Parkside.” 

You nodded, and then asked, “Is it hard?” 

People always ask teachers that question, and I never know what to say to it.

“No harder than your job, I’m sure.” Your fingertip-tapping was annoying. Yet, I couldn’t help but remember your laughter at the park after we had fallen. Your laughter had showed me a side of you that I had wanted to explore. I wanted to get to know the man who laughed like that. “I’m a security guard at Saint Joseph. That’s the psych ward at the hospital down the street.” 

You had wanted to be a cop. We had grown up watching the same buddy cop flicks, and the message we got was the same: SAVE THE WORLD. I wanted to save it through education. You wanted to protect it, but you weren’t able to make it through police academy. You had never learned how to handle rejection. After that, you grew depressed and food became your only solace. I would try to help, but there was so little I could do for such an unwilling man. 

You ordered the pad thai and offered to share. I got the Godzilla roll, mostly for the name. We split the bill; you offered me a ride home, but I said I’d walk. 

“I’ll call you?” you offered, a bit shyly. I considered my options, and figured that a second date couldn’t hurt. You smiled; you needed braces. We shook hands, and then we parted ways. You called me half an hour later to make sure I had gotten home safely, and we made plans for our second date. 

* * *

 

I love my job. You know that, right? 

My second graders are so smart and courageous. Despite what you believe, I know that there is a better future awaiting them than the one you predicted. They will not be doomed to repeat the follies of their parents. I trust that each child that passes through my care has a future beyond what I can imagine. The greatest gift of humanity is our ever-changing natures, after all. I know, for instance, that who you were at twenty-two isn’t who you are at twenty-six. You changed so much on me, Josh. Did you realize that? You let your bitterness at the world consume you. What happened to your beautiful laughter? What happened to that man I fell in love with? What happened to your dreams, Josh? 

Did I change? I feel like as you changed, I changed as well. You infected me with your pain. I became bitter--my discontentment turned cancerous. The end of us was inevitable, one way or another, I realize now. I must admit that our breakup has caused another shift in me. I am freer now, living my life without you. True happiness cannot be far off. I must find contentment within myself. 

For now, I will enjoy my second graders and the time I have left with my dog. The vet said she had two weeks. That was three months ago, right after you left me. I wonder if I should tell you about Peppa. Despite your frustrations with her, you did love her; I know that. Should I tell you? Your number won’t have changed. You wouldn’t have even considered changing it. Still, I hesitate. What right do you have to know about Peppa? 

Besides… how can I move on if I keep looking back at you? 

I have to stop this. 


	3. Vent 3

My apartment is too quiet, and I find myself unable to sleep. Peppa is at the vet, where they tell me that it won’t be long now. Nothing could have prepared me for this. For years I have always had someone with me, but not this year, not tonight. When I moved in with you, it became our tradition to stay awake, close together, as the date changed. You wanted to be the first to wish me Happy Birthday. You always were. You won’t be anymore. 

As midnight arrives, Momma calls me to sing Happy Birthday. 

“Happy Birthday, Nicole Rae!” Momma sings out, and then launches into the full song. Her voice is a balm to my nerves. Our conversations have been short lately, but she has tried to be there in the aftermath. She thinks this is temporary, but I know there is no going back for us. Also, I don’t want there to be an “us.”  

“Thanks, Momma.” 

“What’s the plan today, baby girl?”

“It’s a half day, so after work I’m going out for drinks with Mandy, Jackie, and some of the others.” 

“That’s good. I hate for you to be alone today. How’s Peppa doing?”

I can’t help it. The words spill out past my lips as I seek comfort from my mother. She listens, and sighs. She’s the one who saved Peppa, after all. I cannot imagine how much this must hurt her. I don’t want to hurt her. 

“I don’t want to bury her, Momma.” 

“I know, baby,” she says. “Is it okay if I tell Josh about this?” 

“Josh? Why would you tell him?”

Another sigh, and then my mother tells me that she has been talking with you. She loves you, so I should not be surprised that she would check up on you. You love her, having developed a soft spot for her early on. 

“You can tell him if you want,” I say. Momma wants to know if there’s any messages she can pass on. There are none, no words left for us to say. Besides, I have your number. All I would have to do is call. 

I won’t call.

* * *

 

When you found out that I was born the day after your parent’s wedding day, you told me that would be confusing. By the third and fourth year you had it down. You thought I made a weird Pisces. I told you that you were the perfect Gemini. We laughed and were satisfied with each other. That’s how it was for a time. 

February 24th, twenty-seven years ago, your mother and father married each other. Five months later, you were born. The statue we bought them for their anniversary is still sitting in a box in the kitchen. I packed it and forgot to leave it with you, so now it will sit wasted in my kitchen. What use do I have for a statue, after all? I could give it to Momma, but what use would she have for it? We’re not Catholics. We’re Christians, but all not Christians were created equal. My upbringing was songs, dances, and speaking in tongues. Yours was solemn ceremony and quiet worship. Is this why you hate church but yet still find mine so remarkable? It was like you discovered God in the pews of my church. It was where we were supposed to get married.

* * *

 

My phone rings when I’m crossing from the bar’s bathroom back to the table. I don’t look at the caller id. A mistake. I can see my friends at our table, and I can hear your voice in my ear. 

“Nicole?” you say, as if it hasn’t been weeks since our last text, and longer still since we last spoke. I’m silent, but I can’t hang up. I’m hovering, wavering. My friends haven’t seen me. I step back into the bathroom. 

“Josh.” 

“I just wanted to say… I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday.” I can’t tell what emotion is in your voice, but it’s not one I’m familiar with. How can I not know what it is you’re feeling when I know you best? You used to be the second one to wish me a Happy Birthday, and now you’re one of the last. 

Where did we go wrong? 

“Nicole?” 

I don’t understand what you want me to say. We aren’t obligated anymore to each other. Why are you calling me now of all times? I want to understand, but I also don’t want an argument. Not tonight. I look at the bathroom tiles and say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” An instant reply, and then silence. Should I mention the statue? “Have you gotten to go to brunch with your mom, yet?” 

“This weekend we will. I’m having drinks with the girls now.”

“Oh.” Your voice is tight with disapproval as you ask, “Did they take you to a bar?” 

“Yes.”

You’re silent for a moment, before you uncharacteristically declare, “I won’t keep you any longer then. Have a safe trip home.” 

“Thank you. Goodbye.” 

You barely say bye before disconnecting. Why did you call in the first place? 

More importantly, why do you still have the power to shake me like this? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was sick. 
> 
> [Also over on my site](https://www.sammyaworks.com/the-secret-lives-of-you-and-me-vent-3/).


	4. Vent 4

Peppa’s health improves and they let her come back home. I wonder if she would be happier dying in my arms? Momma thinks I should tell you about her, but I won’t. I’m trying to erase you--to move past “us” into “me.” Why is it so hard? 

By the time we stopped being “us,” your resentment of Peppa weighed down our home. Dogs notice that kind of thing, and so did I. Try as I might, I couldn’t give back you lost: your dignity, your self respect, and God knows what else. 

I tried everything. I wanted to save you, but I understand now that that was an impossible dream. The only person who could save you was you, Josh. I tried to support you as best I could, but that was never enough. How could I fill the holes in your heart when you wouldn’t let me? The frustration turned me bitter; you corrupted me. I had no choice but to give up on you to save myself. 

I’m losing Peppa, too, despite my best efforts. She’s all I have left now. Is this how a mother feels when her child dies before her? No one told me it would be like this. How can I let her go? How will I live after her?  

I don’t know if it’s possible. I just don’t know what to do. How is a world without her so fast approaching?  

* * *

 

I can barely persuade Peppa to go on walks now. All she wants to do is sit by the door. She used to wait for us like this, day in and day out. Who does she think will walk through that door now? I know she doesn’t understand that you won’t come around anymore. You didn’t even like her. Why does she mourn you? Why can’t she move past you? 

Is this what depression is like, Josh? I am used to the hollow silences of my mother during her spells, but I cannot fathom this emptiness in me now. Just like I could never fathom the angry, resentful silences that echoed in our apartment. How could I have saved you when I myself was drowning? How can I forgive you now? 

Never. 

I refuse. 

Why does Momma still talk to you? Momma says you’re better now--quieter, like you used to be. Have you changed that much without me? 

Should I have given you time to heal? Maybe we could have learned to heal together--to embrace one another as full people, instead of splintered pieces of self. 

It’s too late for that. 

Time is grinding to a halt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also over on [ my site](https://www.sammyaworks.com/) and [new tumblr](https://sammyaworks.tumblr.com/).


End file.
